Sunday, May 29, 2016

Three Poems by A.J. Huffman

Canyon Unplugged

Mute of color and colloquialisms,
all reflective properties silenced.
Mystery and wonder, swallowed.
Edges become less, more
markers than precipices, holding only
the shape and hollow mundanity
of a gapeless hole.

Blue Skies & Black Asphalt

Rain rages, sideways against frosted windows,
does not do a thing to ease the arid heat.
Steam is rising from the slick
highway and I am a human
mantra of focus.  Heavy gray
clouds are sweeping down on both sides,
but I ignore their menace.  My eyes
can see only the cerulean promise, opening
ahead of me, a clear pathway,
reminding me I am
almost home.


Seven guards, camouflaged
to fight expanse of living
nothing.  Green
and charming, they spread
their limbs, stretching
to shed their seeds.

A.J. Huffman has published twelve solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses.  Her new poetry collections, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press), A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing), Butchery of the Innocent (Scars Publications), Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink) and A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press) are now available from their respective publishers and  She is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2400 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.  She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.